TINY TOWN, USA –With another dead Kennedy in the national boneyard and pop singers like MJ who refuse to die, it is with great relief and pleasure we report the spirit of Tiny Tim as alive and well in Tiny Town.

The manchild we call Narcissus (pictured above left) cannot play a lick on his tiny guitar. But his presence alone suffused the barren Downtown Central Business District with a peaceful, honey-lighted special effect on Aug. 29. Good enough for Tiny News!

Key differences between Tiny Town's Tiny Tim and the original: Our Tiny Tim cannot sing or play music. However, his haunting atonal mewings are spine tingling. Secondly: Our Tiny Tim has a guitar, not a ukulele. Thirdly: Our Tiny Tim is right-handed. The original Tiny Tim was a southpaw, like Jimi Hendrix, who was born here, and the superb Tiny Town-bred guitarist Peter Salidar.

For these reasons and for the fact that it is important to provide content for TTT until we get the weekend police activity log up and going (Cop Central PR often doesn't post weekend wrap-ups until late Monday) we bring you this newsy bagatelle.

In 1932, Mr. Tim was born Herbert Khaury, son of a Lebanese Maronite Catholic dad and a Polish mom who was Jewish. That alone makes him somebody worth remembering as the World Bank considers bringing the winter Olympics to Beirut.

He died in 1996, curiously, from a second heart attack that struck him down during a performance of his signature tune "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" played at a Gala Benefit of The Woman's Club of Minneapolis, MN. (this according to Prof. Wik I. P'Dia).

What man hasn't suffered a touch of angina at a woman's club, we ask you?

Tiny Town's Tiny Tim looks fairly robust these days and we look forward to years and years of him. While our boy appears to lack any redeeming social significance or musical knowledge whatsoever, he nonetheless belongs here because he IS here and there doesn't seem to be anything we can do to make him go away.

No, you won't hear him singing old Tin Pan Alley tunes or see him charming TV audiences with his eccentric falsetto. You will find him occasionally in face paint, talking to himself and presenting odd facial affects as he flounces down The Commons.

He is a freak! But he's our freak.

And as we bury another Kennedy secret, as the nation gasps when it turns out MJ was merely in a demerol coma and claw marks are found on the inside of his coffin lid, as the body count goes up across the globe in wars only a Christian could dream up and a Muslim take seriously, God/Allah Bless Tiny Tim, where ever you are.